“Leaving, Anya? And who is going to pay for him now? He’s your husband!” the mother-in-law screeched.
“Anya, you have no right to leave!” she shrieked again. “Who will cover his debts? You’re his wife!”
I stood by the door. A suitcase in my hand. Heavy. As heavy as my life has been for the past three years.
“Anyechka, sweetheart…” she suddenly changed her tone. “Where are you going? We’re a family…”
A family. What an interesting word. It used to smell like pies and laughter. And now?.. Now it smells like fear and calls from debt collectors.
“He didn’t mean it!” she kept going. “It’s just… the business didn’t work out!”
Didn’t work out. Another wonderful little phrase. “Didn’t work out” is when it rains on your day off. But when your husband lies about his job for three years, and meanwhile gambles away an apartment somewhere… that’s not “didn’t work out.” That’s a choice.
I turned the doorknob.
“Anya!” now the mother-in-law was shouting. “You have nowhere to go! You have nothing!”
I stopped. Turned back.
“I have myself,” I said simply.
I stepped out onto the landing. Closed the door behind me.
In the elevator I thought: is it true — nowhere to go? My mom died two years ago. We sold the apartment… to pay Sergey’s debts, of course. Friends… what friends? When you have problems, for some reason all friends suddenly become busy.
Only Tanka. Tanka from the next building. We were friends in school. Then life took us in different directions. She went into business, I married Sergey.
March outside. The wind piercing. I pulled out my phone. Dialed the number.
“Hello?” Tanka’s voice.
Surprised.
“Tanyush… it’s me… Anya…”
“Anka?! Where have you been? I even sent you a wedding invitation ages ago!”
A wedding. Ha. If only she knew what my… married life had turned into.
“Tan… can I come to you? At least for a couple of days…”
A pause. A long one. I already braced myself for a refusal.
“Of course you can! Send me the address — I’ll come pick you up.”
Just like that. Simply. Without questions like “what happened” or “what about your husband.”
Half an hour later her red Mazda pulled up. Tanka jumped out — all made up, in a fancy coat. She hugged me tightly.
“You’ll tell me everything in the car,” she said, taking my suitcase.
We drove in silence for the first ten minutes. I looked out the window. The city slid backward. Taking my old life with it.
“Here’s the deal,” Tanka suddenly said. “I know someone. A lawyer. A good one. Tomorrow we’re going to see him.”
“Tan, I don’t have any money…”
“Who said anything about money? We’re friends.”
Friends. That’s what it is — when a person simply exists in your life. Doesn’t demand explanations. Doesn’t lecture you. Just is.
“You know,” she continued, “when I divorced Andrey… I thought that was it. The end of the world. But it turned out to be the beginning of a new life.”
I looked at her. At her confident face. At her ringless fingers.
“You divorced?”
“Two years ago. He also… liked taking risks. Just… in bed. With different women.”
We laughed. Bitterly. But we laughed.
“How did you find out?” I asked.
“And you?”
“Debt collectors came. With papers. Turns out Sergey used the apartment as collateral… took out a loan. One and a half million. And I never knew…”
“Is that even legal?”
“I don’t know… Probably…”
Tanka turned the wheel sharply. Drove into a side street.
“Stop,” she said. “Here’s what I’ll tell you. Tomorrow we go to the lawyer. We figure everything out. And for now…” she thought for a moment. “We think. About what to do next.”
She lit a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked in five years. Sergey didn’t like it. “Your breath stinks,” he’d say. And he himself… smelled of beer. And sweat. And lies.
After Tanka arrived, things suddenly felt a little easier.
“You know what’s the scariest part?” I said suddenly. “Not even the debts. But that I believed him. Until the very end. When the collectors showed me the documents… I first thought it was a mistake.”
“And him?”
“And he… disappeared. Left in the morning ‘for work.’ And that’s it. Turned off his phone. His mother says she has no idea where he is.”
“Bastard.”
“Yes. A bastard.”
We sat there a bit longer. Then Tanka started the car.
“Let’s go home,” she said. “I have wine. Good wine. And cake. We’ll celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“Your freedom.”
Freedom. A frightening word. And a beautiful one at the same time.
Tanka’s apartment was warm. Cozy. Books on the shelves. Flowers on the windowsill. Life, in a word.
“You’ll live here,” she showed me the room. “Until you get back on your feet.”
“Tan, I can’t…”
“You can. And you will. And now — shower, comfy clothes, and dinner. You’ll tell me the rest later.”
Under the hot water I cried. For the first time in all this time. The tears mixed with the water and went down the drain. Along with the resentment. The fear. The past.
Drying off, I looked in the mirror. Thin. Pale. Frightened. But alive. Most importantly — alive.
Over dinner, Tanka talked about her job. She was now heading a department in an advertising agency.
She earned good money. Lived alone and was… happy.
“And men?” I asked.
“What about men? There are some. Different ones. But I’m careful now. I study them first. Then I trust.”
“And how’s that working?”
“Well, I haven’t met the one I could trust completely yet. But I definitely know who I can’t trust.”
We finished the wine. Tanka went to bed. And I sat in the kitchen, staring out the window. The city lived its own life. Windows glowing. People hurrying home. To their families. To their loved ones. To their problems.
And me? I was hurrying too. Just not home. I didn’t have a home anymore. I was hurrying back to myself. To the real me. The one I lost three years ago at the registry office.
In the morning, Sergey’s mother called.
“Anyechka, darling… he’s come back…”
“And?”
“He’s crying… says he loves you… says he’ll change…”
“Where’s the money?”
“What money?”
“The money he blew.”
Silence.
“They’re gone, right?” I said calmly.
“He promises to work it off… to find a way…”
“Tell him…” I took a deep breath. “Tell him I wish him luck. But he won’t be looking for it with me.”
“Anyechka…”
“Goodbye.”
I hung up. My hands weren’t shaking. My heart beat steadily. For the first time in a long while, I felt calm.
Tanka was already waiting in the car. We drove to the lawyer.
“Are you scared?” she asked on the way.
“No,” I surprised myself. “I’m not.”
And truly, I wasn’t. Ahead lay questions. Problems. Uncertainty. But it was my uncertainty. My problems. My life.
Finally.
The lawyer turned out to be young. Tired. The kind who had seen everything.
“The situation is complicated,” he said, flipping through the documents. “The loan is legally issued. The apartment is collateral. Did you sign?”
I nodded. I remembered that day. Sergey said it was for a mortgage. “For the future,” he said. “For the children.” I didn’t even read it…
“Then your consent exists. The bank has the right to…” he looked at me attentively. “But we can try to prove you were deceived. If we succeed…”
“And if not?”
“Then the debt remains. On you. And on him.”
On him. As if Sergey could even be found now?
In the evening we sat in Tanka’s kitchen. Silent.
“Maybe I should make up with him?” I said suddenly. “It would be easier together…”
Tanka looked at me. For a long time.
“Anya… do you love him?”
I thought. Truly thought.
“I don’t know. I think I loved who he pretended to be.”
“And who was he really?”
“I guess I never knew.”
A week later the bank called.
“Your payment schedule has been violated,” said a polite voice. “You must…”
I hung up. Then turned off my phone.
Tanka found me on the balcony.
“What did they say?”
“What they had to say.”
“So now what?”
The city below bustled. Rushed. Solved problems.
“And now… I don’t know.”
“Maybe talk to Sergey’s parents? After all, they…”
“Tanya. His mother called yesterday.”
“What?!”
“Several times. Demanding I come back. Said Sergey… fell ill. From stress.”
“And you?”
“And me? I said that’s his problem.”
Tanka sat beside me.
“You know what’s the scariest thing?” I said. “Not that we’re broke. Not that we lost the apartment. But that now… I don’t trust anyone. At all.”
“Not even me?”
I looked at her.
“You… I still trust. For now. But I’m scared. What if you too…”
“Anka…”
“No, really. What if one day you say: ‘That’s it, I’m tired of your problems.’”
“I won’t.”
“How do you know?”
Tanka sighed.
“I don’t. No one knows what tomorrow brings.”
We sat in silence. Thinking.
“Remember,” Tanka suddenly said, “how in school we planned our lives? You wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to be a journalist.”
“I remember.”
“And we wanted to marry princes.”
“Yep. And ended up with frogs.”
We laughed. Sadly.
“Maybe I should’ve stayed single?” I said.
“Maybe.”
The next day a letter arrived. Official. From the bank.
“We hereby notify you…”
Lots of words. The meaning—one: the apartment would be taken.
“So what now?” Tanka asked.
“And now…” I carefully folded the letter. “Now I start my life over. From zero.”
“With debts?”
“With debts.”
We looked at each other. We understood—it wouldn’t be easy. Not at all.
“Tan… maybe I should move out? Not drag you into this…”
“Anka, shut up.”
“But I…”
“Shut up, I said. We’ll handle it. Somehow.”
Somehow. A vague word. No guarantees. No promises.
But it was better than lies. Better than sweet words about love from someone who betrayed you.
In the evening I called Sergey. His mother answered.
“Anyechka! Finally! He’s been waiting…”
“Put him on.”
Steps. Shuffling. Then his voice. Hoarse.
“Anya… darling… I’m so sorry…”
“Sergey,” I said calmly. “I’m preparing all the documents. Divorce. Division of debts. Everything…”
“But we… we can try…”
“No.”
“Anya, I love you…”
“No. You love your problems. The rush. The risk. You used me.”
“That’s not true…”
“It is exactly true. Goodbye, Sergey.”
I hung up. For the last time.
Tanka listened from the kitchen.
“Well?” she asked.
“That’s it. It’s over.”
“Do you regret it?”
I thought.
“I regret the time. Three years. Is that a lot or a little?”
“For life—little. For a mistake—much.”
We drank tea. Planned the next day. The bank. The lawyer. Papers.
And then… then job hunting. Renting a place. Living on.
Without guarantees. Without pretty promises. Without fairy tales of a happy ending.
Just living. Honestly. With what you have.
And you know what? It was scary. But you have to move forward…
And this time, it was real.
